


The first rule of jumping is getting off the ground

by bamboozledbylife



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Leorio x Machi is a crack ship me and my friend invented but you know what? it works, Multi, Slice of Life, figure skating, just because the zoldycks are in it, we call it doctor x doctor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 21:31:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14553939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamboozledbylife/pseuds/bamboozledbylife
Summary: Early morning is a magical time. The whole world bathed in soft colors, the sky lit up in extravagant hues. The time oft referenced by poets and novelists, the time oft rendered by painters and artists, resplendent in it’s majesty. Life seems a little more whimsical, a little less real.Unless, of course, you have to skate in the early morning.Then it just sucks.A collection of skating-themed one shots, mostly following Killua and Gon as they navigate monstrous coaches, awful costumes, and a ridiculous schedule.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at bamboozledbylife, you can find some extra content which is all tagged figureskating!au, and if you just wanna talk that's cool too!  
> (If anyone read the original posting of this, that part is just now chapter 2.)

Early morning is a magical time. The whole world bathed in soft colors, the sky lit up in extravagant hues. The time oft referenced by poets and novelists, the time oft rendered by painters and artists, resplendent in it’s majesty. Life seems a little more whimsical, a little less real.   
Unless, of course, you have to skate in the early morning.

Then it just sucks.

Ice rinks, by nature, are cold. At 6:30 am? They’re freezing. Everyone shows up 30 minutes early to “warm up,” a fancy name for stretching, blankly staring at your skates, and craving death. The very bravest might jog. Maybe. 

Trying to will the coffee in his hand to warm his entire body, Chrollo currently occupied the “craving death” part of the morning. He used his other hand to rub at his face while he sat, folded half over with his elbows resting on his knees.   
He eyed his skates, left neglected on the ground in between his feet. He didn’t yet have the will power to put the stiff, chilly boots on his feet. Leaving them overnight had it’s drawbacks, but he’d sooner die than forget them. Shizuku had made that mistake once; he shuddered to think of his coach’s wrath aimed at him like that.   
Speaking of Shizuku, she was undoubtedly fighting with the combination on her locker. She would then text Franklin, Feiten, and Chrollo (in that order) asking if any of them remembered. Inevitably Machi would just open it for her.   
He gave a half-hearted glance at his phone when he heard the alert and sure enough, it was Shizuku. He took a deep breath, briefly contemplating ignoring her text before deciding against it. It was going to be a very long day.

_do u no what my locker combo is??_

_nope_

_oh  
darn :(_

The shuffling of footsteps outside drew his attention to the locker room entrance. The door swung open, Phinks and Feiten both entering and giving Chrollo a stiff nod. The silence was a mercy so early in the morning, no one was prepared for that kind of noise. Nobody except for _him,_ but Hisoka was usually late anyways.   
Early morning group classes had a certain rhythm to them. Three days a week the ice dancers, the pairs teams, and a handful of the singles skaters dragged themselves out of bed to suffer for 45 minutes. First to show up were usually the Zoldyck kids: Illumi, Killua, and Kalluto, closely followed by Amane and Canary. Next was Chrollo, Machi, and Neon, but only because Chrollo drove all three of them. Exactly when everybody else might show up? That was anyone’s guess. 

He took a long sip of his coffee while toeing his shows off. He nudged the now discarded shoes underneath the bench he was seated on, grimacing as he prepared to put his skates on. It took so much mental fortitude just to get the damn things on his feet, let alone lacing them and getting on the ice. He slipped his feet into the ice blocks masquerading as skates, hardly noticing the door open again. Silent as a ghost, Kalluto slipped into the locker room, wasting no time as he began to put his own skates on.   
Feiten glanced up from his phone, looking at Kalluto curiously. He turned his head and look at the door expectantly, eyebrows raising after a few moments of nothing.

“Aren’t there supposed to be,” Feiten waved his hand vaguely in Kalluto’s direction, “more of you?”

Kalluto nodded curtly.

“Illumi and Killua are arguing in the lobby.”   
“Already?” Phinks muttered, rolling his eyes. “Jesus fu-“ He caught his next word in his mouth, staring wide eyed at Kalluto, just now realizing he was speaking in the presence of a 10 year old. “Fudgesicle.” 

There was a lull in the conversation while everyone looked at Phinks. Feiten wasn’t even trying to stifle his laughter, and while Chrollo was silent, amusement was written plainly on his features. Phinks averted his eyes, looking everywhere but at someone. Eventually Chrollo spoke, wry smile tugging at his lips.

“We gather here today in the name of the father, the son, and the holy popsicle.”  
“Well, look, he’s- what was I supposed to say?” Phinks stammered his way through an excuse, gesticulating wildly.   
“You could’ve send fuck.” Feiten chimed in, smugness as apparent in his voice as it was on his face.  
“You shouldn’t swear in front of a kid like that,” Phinks shot back.  
“Oh yeah?” Feiten leaned forward towards Phinks, “watch me. Fuck, shit, bitch, di-“ 

Phinks lurched over, clamping a hand over Feiten’s mouth. Within seconds he recoiled in disgust.

“Did you just lick me?” Phinks asked, incredulously.  
“So should I just leave now or what?” A new, but familiar, voice arose from the corner of the locker room. 

Everyone turned to look at the speaker simultaneously. Shalnark was standing awkwardly by the door, hand still on the handle. 

“So… how much of that were you here for?” Phinks said, as he wiped his damp hand on the side of his pants.  
“I came in in between…” Shalnark trailed off, taking note of Kalluto, “the s-word and the b-word.”   
“See,” Phinks glared pointedly at Feiten, “ _somebody_ here has common sense.” 

Before Feiten had a chance to respond, the locker room door swung open once more. This newest entrant however, wouldn’t be ignored. Hisoka flashed the room with his signature grin, loud just in his posturing alone. Chrollo took this as his queue to leave. He stood from the bench, planning on walking past Hisoka.   
This plan was destined for failure from the start. Hisoka stepped to the side, blocking the door completely. 

“Leaving so soon?”  
“I wanted extra time to warm up.”  
“15 extra minutes?” Hisoka quirked an eyebrow, “What could you possibly need to get on the ice for? Neon’s always late anyways.”   
“I just need extra time today.”  
“To do what?”  
“Time.” 

The argument continued to escalate without them. Before Hisoka had the chance to interrogate Chrollo further, Kalluto’s voice cut through the fray.

“You guys know I say fuck right?” 

It went dead silent, all eyes glued to Kalluto. Some filled with horror, others with mirth. Hisoka was the first to speak, attention torn from Chrollo. 

“Ah, so you’re swearing now? I’m sure Illumi’s _thrilled_ about that.” Hisoka stepped around Chrollo, reaching his hand out for a high-five. “Good job.”

Before Kalluto had time to raise his hand Phinks reached across him, grabbing his arm. 

“Don’t high-five that.” Phinks turned his head up to look at Hisoka, “he’s not high-fiving that.” 

“If he’s allowed to swear he’s allowed to high-five who he pleases.”  
“He isn’t allowed to swear.” 

In the time it had taken Hisoka to offer a high-five, and for that high-five to be rejected, Chrollo had left. Replacing Chrollo, however, was Illumi. A tired, already annoyed, Illumi. Hisoka spun around, Kalluto forgotten as quickly as he’d been remembered.

“Fancy seeing you here. Awfully late aren’t we?”  
“Fuck off.”

If ever there was a way to take the piss out of an argument, that was it. Illumi pushed past Hisoka, not even sparing him a glance. An awkward quiet settled over the room, nothing but the sounds of skates being tied and coats being zipped. People filed out of the room one by one, nobody intent on lingering. 

~~~

Eventually everyone had switched from sitting around in the locker room, to milling aimlessly around the rink. Shalnark got on the ice and immediately went over to the music box, plugging his phone in and scrolling through his playlist. Right as he went to pick a song his screen blacked out. He screwed his mouth up, holding the power button for a few seconds, completely fruitlessly.  
Noticing the look of frustration Feiten skated over, leaning against the boards.

“Is something up with your phone Shalnark?”   
“The screen went black all of a sudden, I think it’s too cold or something. It shouldn’t be dead.”  
“Want some help? I know a trick for this.”   
“Really? Thanks!” 

Shalnark offered the phone to Feiten, who took it in one hand. Shalnark wasn’t quick enough to stop what happened next. Holding the phone in his hand, Feiten smacked it with his other one as hard as possible. Shalnark lunged forward to grab the phone, but Feiten had already pushed himself off the boards. He smacked it once more, and by the time Shalnark jumped the boards and was back on the ice, the screen had turned on.

“I, uh… guess this is okay.”   
“I know that.”

Shalnark wanted so badly to berate him, but it had worked. Why it had worked was beyond him. Generally speaking, the “hit it until it works” strategy wasn’t the best for delicate electronics. His phone, however, seemed fine.   
Shalnark turned the device over in his hands, inspecting it from all angles. He squinted at it, checking for damage of any kind. There weren’t even any new scratches, not from what he could tell.

“Something wrong?” 

Shalnark looked up from his phone, seeing Shizuku not but two feet away from him. When had she gotten there? Regardless, he simply waved his hand in the air dismissively.

“Nah it’s fine now. Feiten-” he gave the phone one more quick once over “-fixed it? I think.”  
“If you’re having problems with it I could play mus-“  
“No!”  
“No.” 

Both Feiten and Shalnark had blurted the word out at the same time. Shalnark rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. Feiten didn’t even have the curtesy to be embarrassed. Thank god they was talking to the only person who wouldn’t realize how rude they’d been.   
Maybe that wasn’t strictly true, but in the case that she did, she wouldn’t care. Good old Shizuku.

“If you’re sure,” she shrugged nonchalantly.

Feiten and Shalnark looked at each other for a second before nodding.

“We are.”

They both held their breath for a beat, hoping she wouldn’t press the matter more. Neither meant to be rude, not by any stretch, but no one could stand 45 minutes of her music. Not again. Never again. Today wasn’t their lucky day.

“Maybe I could play music anyways? Just for today.”

This conversation had attracted a crowd. Phinks, Chrollo, and Machi all stood by the boards, completely silent and close enough to hear, apprehensive of the outcome. Hisoka had also caught most of the conversation, but his qualms weren’t so silent. He skated towards them and stopped in between Feiten and Shizuku.

“Not to be overly dramatic but-” Hisoka began, but was quickly cut off.  
“You’re already lying,” Feiten said, glaring up at Hisoka. “You’ve never tried not to be dramatic in your whole life.”  
“I’m trying right now,” Hisoka touched his hand to his chest in mock hurt, “It’s why I said ‘not to be overly dramatic’.”  
“You were lying.”  
“You don’t know that.”  
“I do.”  
“You _don’t_ know, since I didn’t finish my sentence.”  
“Fine. Finish it.”  
“Not to be overly dramatic but I’d kill you, and then myself, before I’d let that happen.”  
“Oh my god.”

Feiten buried his face in his hands. Hisoka’s saccharine smile was plastered on, twice as obnoxious as usual. Even through all this, Shizuku still looked vaguely lost. She blinked incredulously, like she’d just woken up in the middle of her kitchen while sleepwalking. Taking pity on Shizuku, Chrollo decided to try and distract Hisoka from tormenting her. Her music _was_ awful, that much was true. She’d probably never even realize it, poor thing. Regardless, someone had to help her.  
Chrollo pushed off from the wall, letting a toe pick drag on the ice. He got within a more comfortable distance and stopped, giving a lazy wave of his hand to attract Hisoka’s attention.

“Question,” Chrollo interjected, “why would you kill yourself after already killing Shizuku?”  
“That’s obvious,” Hisoka gestured broadly at his face, “I’m too pretty to go to jail.”  
“You think anyone here would actually go to the police?”   
“Illumi would sell me out for a lollipop, so yes.”  
“Hm, you’re probably right.”   
“ _Probably?_ Would you care to test this?”  
“No I don’t think-“

HIsoka turned around, hands already cupped to his mouth. Illumi was on the other side of the rink, but not for much longer.

“ILLUMI!” 

Illumi didn’t answer, didn’t even look over.

“ILLUMI ZOLDYCK!” 

Chrollo could see Illumi sigh, even from this distance. He skated over to them, slowly. So slowly. He glared at Hisoka with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“What could you _possibly_ need?”   
“Could you keep a secret?”   
“Of yours? Absolutely not, on principle.”

Hisoka looked at Chrollo, smile dripping with self-satisfaction. Chrollo refused to return his gaze, instead looking at Illumi as apologetically as possible. 

“Was that all?”   
“Well, now that you mention it-“   
“Yes,” Chrollo hastily interrupted, “he’s done now. Sorry.” 

Illumi nodded, and just as he went to leave, a commotion at the arena door drew everyone’s attention. It was Neon, phone pressed to her ear, in a screaming match with her father. The screech of her voice cut above the music. 

“Is it too late to go home?” Chrollo muttered under his breath.  
“I saw Silva’s car in the parking lot before I got on the ice,” Hisoka replied, “though if you were quick enough you might be able to make a run for it.”  
Neon yelled some sort of goodbye at her father, and Chrollo immediately let out a sigh of relief. He watched her as she went to get on the ice, and then the next few moments happened in slow motion. The minute she stepped on the ice he saw it, the incriminating rubber cover. A bright pink skate guard, still securely on the blade.   
He would’ve stopped her. He just wasn’t close enough, wasn’t quick enough. She fell forward, hands outstretched to break her fall. Her arms collapsed as she hit the ice, and she smashed, face first, into the unforgiving ground. The next thing he knew a high pitched wail pierced the air.   
He approached her, bending down to help her stand. He rolled his eyes as he remove her skate guards for her. Without him she probably would’ve stood up and fallen down again.  
She lifted her head, and a stream of stark red blood trailed from her nose to the ice. Chrollo wanted to feel bad for her, honestly he did. She just made it so hard.   
Machi came over, holding a wad of tissues in her hand. She passed them to Chrollo, who handed one to Neon. Neon held it to her nose, still sniffling as tears dried on her face. Her nose was already beginning to swell, and the blood quickly soaked the tissue. 

“I think it’s broken,” Machi said, examining Neon’s face carefully, “she should probably see a doctor.”  
“Right now? Or can it wait a few hours?”   
“Chrollo,” Machi grabbed his arm, pulling Chrollo down to her level, “I’m offering you an out. Take it.”   
“I understand that, but” Chrollo glanced at the door, half expecting one of their coaches to materialize out of thin air, “Silva and Kikyo are already mad at me.”   
“Because they don’t like you anyways. Run while you can.”  
“They’ll still-“ 

His attention was grabbed by the sound of gagging. He caught the sight of Neon throwing up on the ice out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face everyone else who had gathered around, pointing directly at the vomit.  
“You all saw that, you’re all witnesses. I have to take Neon to the hospital now, I _have_ to. We’re all clear on that, right?”

He was answered with various affirmations, and he put a hand on Neon’s back to help guide her off the ice. They turned around and were greeted with a rather unhappy Silva Zoldyck. 

“Is this what you’re all training to do? Stand around?” 

The group immediately dispersed, making themselves busy. Chrollo stayed, staring Silva down. 

“Are you waiting for something? Go skate.”   
“I have to take Neon to the hospital.”  
“It’s just a little blood. She looks fine to me.”  
“She may have a concussion. How keen are you on getting sued by the Nostrade’s?”  
“Don’t try and threaten me,” Silva scoffed, “you’re not as intimidating as you might think.”   
“The threat isn’t me. _The threat_ is the only person in this rink with enough money to sue you.”  
“And? People don’t win lawsuits against Zoldyck’s.”   
“There’s a first for everything,” Chrollo shrugged, “now are you going to move or not?” 

Silva stepped to the side, allowing Chrollo to pass through. As soon as Chrollo stepped in front of him Silva grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in place.

“Don’t push your luck, brat.”  
“I could say the same.”

Silva glared at him, but he returned the stare with the same intensity. After a few tense moments Silva released his shoulder, watching him as he walked away. Chrollo felt Silva’s eyes burning holes into his back, and he hurried Neon along. As far as he was concerned, today was a bust. He would take Neon to the doctor, and then he would just go home. He briefly checked the time on his phone, _7:10 am._

“Chrollo?” Neon spoke, voice odd from her pinched nose.   
“Yeah?”   
“Morning lessons suck.”   
“Yeah.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killua fights with Illumi, and loses  
> Gon fights with Hisoka, and loses  
> all in all, a fairly normal day

The meltdown was catastrophic. Nothing was the same after, the whole world was turned on it’s side. Normalcy was a thing of the past.   
The worst part? It had _become_ the norm. The chaos, the disruption, it was hell.

And the man who incited the disaster? That was the most unfortunate thing of all. He did it on accident. Every. Single. Week. 

“You’re being overdramatic.”   
“ _You_ don’t have to help him.”  
“Switch with Gon then.”   
“Gon just makes it worse.”

Perhaps Killua was being a tad overdramatic. But anyone who has to deal with six sobbing five year olds, and their hapless teacher, every week, is allowed to be a little dramatic. Hisoka wasn’t a bad teacher, per se, just a terrible one for small children. How anyone could fuck up so badly was beyond him, but Hisoka found a way. One of his many “talents” apparently.  
He still wanted to stop helping with learn-to-skate, regardless. He was only there because his brother, Illumi, forced him. It was this same brother he was currently engaged in battle of wills with. 

Killua had draped himself over a bench, waiting for Illumi to finish taking his skates off so they could leave. This was an old argument between them, one Killua had yet to win. They would fight for a while, Killua would mutter something under his breath, Illumi would tell him to “say it his face,” and Killua would blank. He knew better than to piss of his sometimes-coach and, more importantly, his ride home.

“Kalluto doesn’t have to help.”  
“Kalluto is ten.”  
“So?”  
“He’s barely older than the children he’d be teaching.”  
“ _I’m_ barely older than the kids I’m teaching.”  
“That’s different.”  
“How?”

Illumi finished wiping one of his skates off, running his finger down the length of the blade. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. 

“I need to get these sharpened. It’s been a while.”  
“Illumi? Stop ignoring me.”   
“I’m not ignoring you.”  
“You’re ignoring my question.”  
“Those aren’t the same thing.”  
“Ugh.”

Killua sighed, as long and as loudly as possible. Illumi rolled his eyes as he shut his locker with a resounding bang.   
All the sounds in the locker room were amplified, the quality of the acoustics mostly just annoying in a room full of metal closets. Hisoka made many a joke about what else would sound very, very good in here. None of them were funny.

Illumi slung his backpack over his shoulder, and then turned to leave. Killua slid off the bench, eager to go home. Not necessarily because he was going to his house, but because he was leaving. His feet were sore, and he was always mentally exhausted after learn-to-skate.   
As they exited the locker room and walked through the rink, snippy comments exchanged back and forth, Killua cast a glance towards the ice. He snickered at the sight of Gon, splayed flat out on his stomach. Hisoka stood nearby, nudging Gon’s side with his boot. Sometimes he was envious of Gon’s freedom, but now? The only thing he felt for Gon was pity.  
He hadn’t noticed at first, but Illumi had stopped to watch the spectacle. 

“See Kil-” Illumi gestured at Hisoka and Gon “-it could be worse. You could have post learn-to-skate lessons too.”   
“I used to.” 

Illumi continued like he hadn’t heard him. 

“Frankly, Gon’s lucky Hisoka even has his skates on.”

At that, Killua snorted derisively. “I’m not sure anyone’s _lucky_ to work with Hisoka.”

Illumi hummed in agreement, “probably not.” 

Illumi turned away from the ice, walking through the doors to the lobby. Killua stood there a second more, speaking quietly to himself.

“Good luck dude. You need it.”

He looked one more time over his shoulder at Gon, now sitting, but still on the ice, before he followed Illumi out. He had seemed to be arguing with Hisoka about something. Not the best plan of action. This would end poorly for Gon, but there was no doubt he would text Killua the details of his lesson later that night. It would be good for a laugh, if nothing else.

~~~

The feeling of the ice against his forehead did little to cool his temper. He could feel it beginning to melt underneath him, the water dampening his clothes. He could also feel Hisoka nudging him with the boot of his skate, but frankly, he could get fucked.

“Are you giving up?”   
“No!” 

He wasn’t giving up. Laying on the ice and not moving anymore wasn’t giving up. He was just thinking. 

“This looks likes giving up.”  
“It isn’t!”  
“We can do something else if you’re-“  
“No! I said I’m not giving up.”  
“What was that? Sorry I can’t hear you very well, your voice is a little muffled.”

Gon gathered his arms underneath him and pushed himself up onto his battered knees. They stung, and he could feel the pressure from the swelling. He flipped himself over so he was seated on the ice, and glared at Hisoka. Hisoka looked down at him, amusement clear on his features. 

“Are you done throwing a fit yet?”  
“I’m not throwing a fit!”  
“Ah, of course, my bad. What are we calling this, then?”  
“It’s…” 

As much as it irked him, Hisoka’s description was pretty apt. There wasn’t really a better way to put this. 

“By all means Gon, finish your sentence. I’ll wait.”   
“I’m thinking!”  
“Yes, because that’s what we’re here to do.” He made a sweeping gesture at the empty rink. “We put ice skates on, get on the ice, and then sit on the ground and think for an hour.”  
“It won’t take me an hour!” 

A smirk pulled at the corner of Hisoka’s mouth, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

“You’re certainly right about that.”

Hisoka pushed his foot out, digging his toe into the ice and sending snow flying into Gon’s face. 

“Stop that!”  
“Of course,” Hisoka smiled, wide and toothy, “as soon as you stand up.” 

Hisoka shifted his weight back to do it again, and Gon scrambled to his feet. He brushed the snow off of his pants and coat, maneuvering the wet fabric over his knees to a more comfortable position. He looked up at Hisoka, fiery and defiant. 

“I thought I’d give you a break, but obviously that won’t be necessary. Instead…” Hisoka made a show of thinking, tapping his finger on his lips as though deep in thought. “How about we do suicides for the rest of the lesson. You’re good at those, yeah?”   
“Fine.” 

Anything was better than more Ina Bauers, but when he turned and looked at the clock he realized his mistake. 

“We have 30 minutes left. Three, zero, minutes.”  
“Good to know you can read an electronic clock.”  
“You can’t be serious!”  
“You’re right, I was joking.”

A wash of relief came over Gon.

“So what are we doing then?”  
“Suicides? I said that already Gon, keep up.”  
“I- no. You said you were joking.”  
“Oh I was. I was never gonna give you a break.”

Hisoka gave a single lackluster push, gliding smoothly to the boards. 

“Come on Gon, we don’t have all day,” he called out from over his shoulder. 

Gon grit his teeth; the only thing that would pull him through this was sheer force of will. This became especially apparent about 15 minutes in, when he was doubled over trying to catch his breath. Hisoka was sitting on the boards, not even watching anymore. He had his phone out, no doubt bothering someone else. He had been standing still for not more than 2 minutes before Hisoka’s voice rang out.

“Lesson isn’t over yet Gon~”  
“You aren’t even watching!”   
“I don’t need to. Besides, I know when you stop skating. I’m bored not deaf.”  
“Oh.” 

Gon was in the middle of the ice when he heard the buzzer go off. Exhausted, he dropped where he was standing. Leorio was opening the zamboni doors, getting ready to do the final make before hockey. Gon just laid there, back on the ice once more. He felt like every ounce of energy had been drained from his body. Even as the zamboni slowly crept on to the ice, Gon couldn’t find the energy to move. He vaguely heard Leorio shouting, and then Hisoka was there, nudging him with his boot again.

“Not a great time for a nap Gon.”   
“This is your fault.”   
“I believe it was you who wasn’t happy with our lesson.”

Hisoka smiled smugly, as though he wasn’t currently the bane of Gon’s existence. 

“Not to rehash an old argument, but you really do need to get up.”

Hisoka waited a moment, but Gon didn’t move even an inch and Leorio’s yelling only became more incessant. 

“I suppose I’ll take pity on you. Just this once.” 

Hisoka hooked a finger behind both of Gon’s blades, dragging him over to the door. Being dragged by one of your feet across a sheet of ice wasn’t what most people considered pity, but this was Hisoka after all. Hisoka dropped his feet onto the ledge of the door, stepping over to the side and popping his skate guards on.  
Gon rolled up to a sitting position, scooting his butt forwards until he was seated on the floor. By this time he had caught his breath, but his limbs still felt leaden. 

“I wouldn’t sit on the floor like that.”  
“I wouldn’t make a kid do suicides for 30 minutes!”  
“Touché.” 

Hisoka leaned against the wall and waited for to him to stand up. After only a few seconds buzzing from his cell phone caught his attention. He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and his face lit up when he saw the caller ID. Immediately he pushed off the wall, going to head outside.

“Sorry Gon, I’ve gotta take this.” He gave a little wave over his shoulder as he left. “See you tomorrow~” 

Gon waited until he was out of sight before he pulled himself up from the ground. His hands were covered in a light black powder, and his pants most likely were as well. He scrunched his face up in disgust as he wiped the dirt and debris off on his pants. As he kicked his feet up to put his guards on his attention was brought to his aching knees. He groaned as he rubbed them, wincing at the stinging sensation. Yet more bruises for his aunt to fuss over.  
He couldn’t go home today until Leorio did, he was his ride. He had another hour before they’d leave, plenty of time to tell Killua all about his lesson. KIllua would call him an idiot for fighting with Hisoka, no doubt. He’d be right too. That was half the fun of telling Killua though.


End file.
